I, Kyle
by Reason-Flower
Summary: Kyle Reese reflects on his relationship with Sarah Connor. Set shortly before the Terminator arrives at the motel - or is it a hotel? You know what I mean. Rating is precautionary.


Author's Note: I wasn't sure what rating to use for this, as the sex scene (yes, there is one) isn't at all explicit, but it is a bit rambling. I figured it wasn't brief enough for a T-rating. Better safe than sorry, I guess. Actually, I'm inclined to think that I spent to much time on that part, but writing that kind of stuff isn't exactly my area of expertise, so I wasn't sure how to do it. But please, please, tell me what you think, and whether you think I was too extravagantly metaphorical (I probably was). You should probably also know that I've only watched the first two Terminator movies, so I apologise if I've made any mistakes.

Disclaimer: If I created Terminator, I would have better things to do. Not only that, but I'd be out doing them.

* * *

I, Kyle

I'm Kyle Reese, and I was sent back in time to protect the mother of John Connor, the saviour of humanity. I volunteered to do it, when we found the time-displacement technology – how could I not? Not only is her safety necessary to the survival of the human race, but she is, and always has been, my angel.

Not that she knew any of this, of course; she was gone long before my time. But she's a legend among the resistance: Sarah Connor, the woman who taught John Connor to fight, to organise. To survive. A mythical warrior like the knights of old, a goddess.

She was all of that to me, and yet so much more. I still remember the day John gave me her picture, although I didn't understand why at the time. He was telling me about her, telling the stories he liked to tell and I always liked to hear, stories I'd heard hundreds of times but still listened to as eagerly as if they were new.

"What did she look like?" I asked, unable to picture her. How could this divine creature resemble mere humans?

"Well, she was slender, with mousey hair, blue eyes . . ." he answered. "You know what? I have a picture, if you would like to see."

I mumbled something, I don't know what; I was too overwhelmed in that moment to think clearly. He seemed to understand.

As I sat scrambling for my wits, John produced a battered old photograph from somewhere, dusty, wrinkled, torn. The woman in it, however, seemed strangely untouched by all of that. Her soft mouth seemed to have ignored the calling of time, her fine bone structure undamaged by her dangerous life, her fair skin silky. To a man who had lived his entire life in a world of blood, and pain, she was a vision of indescribable loveliness.

But it was not her beauty which captured my attention. It was the enigmatic expression she wore, one which defied definition. Studying her face, I observed hints of love, reminiscence, resignation, strength and sadness. It was the face of someone who never gave up, who would do anything, _anything_ for what she believed in. Sarah Connor was a force to be reckoned with. And yet there was gentleness there, too, and even something like hope. I'd seen hope before, occasionally, but hers seemed cleaner, deeper. Longer-lasting.

I stood there, staring at her, knowing that I should return the picture but unable to do so . . .

"You can have it."

Wait. What?

"I know it by heart, anyway. I don't really need to look at it to see her."

Again, I don't recall what I said next, but I carried it with me constantly, after that. She was my lucky charm.

I know it's silly, but that photo became my most precious possession, more cherished than food or weapons, or even water. I used to take it out and gaze at it for hours, trying to imagine what she was thinking about. I came up with countless theories, any number of which could've been true. But I didn't know. I'll never know. Even John doesn't know.

And then, one day, our current base was attacked. I remember watching it burn, mere feet away but unable to do anything to stop it. It was as though death itself had crept up behind me and laid its cold fingers around my heart.

Soon after, we raided a Skynet research facility and found the time-displacement technology, like I said before. I travelled across time for her, and found her. Unfortunately, so did the Terminator Skynet sent to eliminate John Connor before he even existed. To erase him completely.

I managed to intervene just as the cyborg was about to kill her, and we took off. But she was just a terrified girl who'd had her entire life turned upside down, and in some ways I was just as much out of my depth. How was I supposed to take care of her, in this strange new world which I didn't know or understand? Even the trees, as painfully beautiful as they were, frightened me. I'd never seen anything like them before.

As we fled, I took the chance to covertly observe Sarah. Her shock seemed strange to me, coming as I did from a place where you act decisively or die, but this place is so different. And even through her fear she was never cruel, never hysterical; she had time and energy to spare for me and my pain. She wasn't the great warrior yet, but she could be. The potential was there.

It was as she fell asleep in my arms after we'd driven as far as we could that I realised I loved her. I always had. Stroking her hair, memorising once again the lines of her face, I knew I would die for her. She was the most precious creature in all of creation – what was my life compared to hers? It didn't matter that she would never look at me, all that mattered was her safety. Hers and that of her unborn son.

We travelled, and she adapted. I watched as she accepted her fate and began to take the initiative. Whether she was looking up Cyberdine Systems in the phone book or sitting in the kitchen learning to make plastique, she began to draw from reserves of strength she didn't know she had. The butterfly was beginning to emerge.

It was at this point that everything changed. She asked me about the girls back home, if there was someone 'special'. At first, I didn't know what she meant. I told her they were good fighters, but . . . for me, there was no one.

And then I accidentally let slip how I felt about her. She just looked at me, and I turned away, ashamed, muttering that I shouldn't have said anything. I was sure I had ruined everything, that she would recoil from me in dismay. Instead, she kissed me.

I forgot everything in that moment. The feel of her lips on mine, the taste of her, was everywhere. My very bones sang, a song so old its beginnings are lost in the mists of time. Our bodies moulded to each other, moving together, until I couldn't tell where one of us ended and the other began. The feel of her skin on mine was like fire, like light, illuminating the darkness of my life, chasing away the shadows. Her brilliance was reflected in me, and the joy we created together, consummating our love for the first time, seemed to cancel out all the pain, all the fear, all the anger that had haunted my life.

Later, as we held each other, the shadows tried to creep back in, but they were held at bay by the radiance of our union, confined to the corners. I had slept earlier, unaccustomed to this new, unearthly way of using my body, but now I worshipped her with my eyes, this girl who was somehow more beautiful now than ever before. I was struck by the symmetry, and yet contrast, between this night and the one before. Once again, I cradled her in my arms, smoothing her dishevelled locks of hair, feeling the strength of my love for her. Only now, she loved me back.

Who knows if it will be this way forever? The way I feel for her will never change, but even if her love waxes and wanes, I'll still be there for her. It is imperative that I am there for her, always. No matter who John's father is, whether it's me or someone she hasn't met yet. If it's me, then I die before the war, maybe even killed by this very Terminator that's hunting us now, in which case I may have days or even hours left, but I don't care. It's worth it, for this.

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Author's note: see what I mean? Not to inconvenience you or anything, but I am in _dire_ need of feedback, if anyone's still reading. For all I know, everyone's clicked the back-button in disgust and no one's reading this Author's note. Ah well. That means they can't flame, at least.


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